


Fashionably Late

by sweeterthankarma



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Drunken Flirting, Established Relationship, F/F, Lesbian Noora Amalie Sætre, Lesbian Vilde Lien Hellerud, Post-Canon, inspired by a John Mayer song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25134070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: Noora scrunches her lips into a flattered, lovestruck smile yet rolls her eyes at the same time. “Vilde, you’re drunk.”“Maybe,” Vilde admits, knowing that no one knows her better than Noora, “but I’m not a liar. And I’m in love with you and telling you so because I feel like you should know.”
Relationships: Vilde Lien Hellerud/Noora Amalie Sætre
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	Fashionably Late

**Author's Note:**

> Long overdue but I've finally gotten into Skam and I am obsessed! Why did it take me so long to watch this show?!
> 
> This fic is inspired by the song "Your Body is a Wonderland" by John Mayer, which I'll now never be able to listen to and not think of Noora and Vilde. I'm new to the fandom but am glad to see I'm not the only one who ships them! In my mind, they're both lesbians who dealing with compulsory heterosexuality in canon but they eventually realize their truth and live happily ever after as girlfriends because it's what they deserve :’)

Noora’s known Vilde for a long time. She knows what she’s like while drunk on a variety of spirits, whether it be whiskey, beer, vodka or gin, or any combination. Yet somehow she never expected this from her, especially on an evening like tonight and after a few mere glasses of wine.

“Baby,” Vilde croons in her ear, her tone smooth as silk as she surely smears her lipstick— or rather, Noora’s lipstick, painted on her own mouth— across her earlobe. “You look so good it hurts.”

Vilde’s arms are wrapped tight around Noora’s waist, holding her close, and though she doesn’t dare give Noora enough space to move away, her hands move constantly across her skin, around her hips and lower back and abdomen, everywhere she can reach, as if there isn’t a part of her that she can bring herself to wait to touch. 

Noora laughs when Vilde presses her mouth to her throat, sighing in eagerness. The sound of Noora’s joy sinks into Vilde’s veins, settles deep in her bloodstream and strikes her like a high, like the same kind of intoxication she feels right now. Noora’s hands adjust the collar of Vilde’s shirt; she feels just the faintest brush of her fingertips on her neck, and that alone is better than the Cabernet that she’s drunk. 

She’s had four glasses— no, maybe five (she’s lost track and Noora wasn’t watching her; the bottle was already half empty too so there’s no way to judge how much is missing now)— and they’re supposed to be going to Eva’s house, a long-awaited reunion of their friend group after their second semester of college. Now, though, Vilde won’t let them get out of the door, too busy koala-hugging her girlfriend and refusing to let go, murmuring suggestive praises that are anything but subtle. 

“Do you even know what you do to me?” she says, words hushed and breathy on the corner of Noora’s mouth. “You’re _perfect.”_

Noora scrunches her lips into a flattered, lovestruck smile yet rolls her eyes at the same time. “Vilde, you’re drunk.”

“Maybe,” Vilde admits, knowing that no one knows her better than Noora, “but I’m not a liar. And I’m in love with you and telling you so because I feel like you should know.”

This time, there’s not even a hint of irritation, faux or not, in Noora’s expression. She answers Vilde with a kiss, starting slow and sincere but turning into something desperate as soon as Vilde shifts her arms from her waist to her hair and nudges her onto the bed.

“Babe, we’re gonna be late,” Noora huffs out, giving her a look and attempting to sit up, but she doesn’t fight when Vilde gently pushes her back and straddles her, a little clumsy but never not endearing. Noora doesn’t protest even though she knows that she should; it’s hard to tear her eyes away from Vilde’s attempts to undress her, her tipsy fingers missing the mark and fumbling to fit the little circles through the little holes, her lower lip pouted like it’s a challenge, a conquest. It’s adorable, makes Noora’s heart soar, yet she makes a mental note: _no more wine for Vilde unless we’re staying home all night._ It’s not just out of respect for Eva and all their friends, but rather, Noora would admittedly like to appreciate Vilde when she’s like this without anything else on her mind, a single care in the world. 

Though right now, honestly, it’s pretty easy to clear her head. Really, it shouldn’t be this easy. One look at Vilde with her bottom lip in between her teeth, flickering her gaze upwards to give her those eyes while she’s doing everything she can to get Vilde undressed— Noora is a terrible friend. She’s not thinking about anything else anymore, and most certainly not _anyone_ else. 

“I can’t…” Vilde gets out in between frustrated huffs, “go to the party...without at least getting you off because you’re so...pretty and...sexy...and you deserve it.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” Noora replies, adjusting her head on the pillows and giving Vilde an expectant smirk. Her own fingers skirt up and behind Vilde’s top, pulling it over her head, and she can’t help but wonder why they even got dressed in the first place. She’s never been good at saying no to Vilde, at least not ever since they started dating, especially because Vilde is perpetually ready and willing to give Noora anything and everything she wants. She’s good at it too, so dedicated and professional in her loving; Noora could ask for the moon and she has no doubt in her mind that Vilde would try her damn hardest to get it, and maybe even succeed. That’s how she is when she’s in love, how they both are, and that’s why they work so well. 

That’s why Noora lets Vilde lay her out against the bedsheets, her limbs going lax as she waits for Vilde’s attention, even as she knows they should already be in her car, on their way to Eva’s neighbourhood. Noora tastes the wine on Vilde’s lips on their next kiss, more urgent this time with just a brush of tongue, and she thinks she’s going to be too drunk to drive after this— source of inebriation: Vilde Lien Hellerud, 100 proof.

“You’re so sexy, it’s not even fair,” Vilde whines as she clambers beneath Noora’s thighs and feels her through the fabric of her underwear. She ties her hair up, loose curls turning mussed and frizzy as she pulls them into a ponytail, and Noora sucks in a deep breath, juts her hips up to meet her touch, laughing again when Vilde nearly groans, “I want to make you feel so good.”

“That can be arranged,” Noora answers sweetly, while Vilde rambles on: _“So, so good, Noora, I want to make you feel amazing, I want you to feel everything, I want you to feel me.”_

A visible shudder ripples through Noora’s body at Vilde’s words. Seconds pass, her resolve dissipating, but somehow she finds the words to protest, “but you’re explaining to Eva why we’ll be late, and you _can’t_ tell her it’s because you were fucking me. She’ll never let me live it down.”

“Okay, I can say _you_ were fucking _me,”_ Vilde counters, the statement leaving her mouth swiftly and matter-of-fact, like they’re talking about who’s going to split the dinner bill. Effortless. She erupts into a fit of giggles moments after though, bent over atop Noora and tickling her bellybutton with her breath when she drops her cheek to her abdomen, and a flood of affection rushes through Noora as she watches her, anything but sober but always lovely, always loving. 

“No,” Noora warns, even though she knows Vilde’s only joking, but then her panties are pushed to the side and Vilde’s busy, wasting no time before doing what she said she would, and honestly, the last thing Vilde can worry about is being late to Eva’s party. They’ll be fashionably late, she decides, even if their makeup is smudged and their previously perfectly ironed clothes are wrinkled. She thinks it’ll be worth it. No, she _knows_ it will be. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please let me know! Comments and kudos make my day. Come say hi and talk about Skam with me in the comments or at my Tumblr blog [here!](https://sweeterthankarma.tumblr.com/)


End file.
